Corruption
by Diamond of Long Cleeve747
Summary: The intent was to destroy Voldemort. Emotions, past experiences, even the positive, can twist an ideal and turn someone into another he never dreamed he would be.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Now really, you wouldn't believe me even I told you I own all these characters.  
  
One-  
  
"You don't see it, do you?" Hermione nearly screamed, wringing her hands in anguish.   
  
"Hermione, I couldn't depend on her protection," Harry snarled, pocketing his wand, "if Voldemort is going to find me anyway, my aunt won't be much help."   
  
"But she was your mother's sister!" Hermione wailed, both hands now clutching the doorframe, "She was your own flesh and blood; she had a husband, a son!"   
  
"They made my life a living hell." Harry explained in a voice so calm it sent shivers down Hermione's spine, "Now I'm giving them a taste of what I endured for seventeen years."   
  
"No one deserves that!" Hermione cried, "You could have just ran away from home, but you killed her. You could go to Azkaban for that."   
  
"You're the one who doesn't understand," Harry began, his eyes sweeping over the cold form that had once been his aunt, to his friend, ashen and frightened, her eyes still wide in the horror she had just witnessed.   
  
"This isn't about whether I'll go to Azkaban or not," he continued, "it's about defeating Voldemort. Neither can live while the other survives, remember? The sooner I kill him, the sooner we can carry on with our lives."   
  
"Harry!" Hermione sobbed, "Harry, we can't just continue on in our lives. This isn't something that can be brushed aside once it's over. This is so much worse, you have to tell someone. Tell Dumbledore!" She pleaded, trying to steady herself on the floor that now seemed to heave and shake beneath her.   
  
"Right, because he's always been there for me." Harry spat, glaring at her.   
  
The wind seemed crushed out of Hermione's lungs as his piercing eyes cut into her heart. She staggered back, as if struck, the tears on her cheeks flowed silently but she forced her mouth open to say one more thing. "Harry," she started softly in a broken voice, "everything that's happened recently is like a grotesque distortion of who you really are. You speak of killing Voldemort, yet you, like him, have blood on your hands. You, like him, have lost all reason."   
  
A silence smothered the atmosphere, and she watched as her friend's face paled, but then darkened with fury.   
  
"You don't know what you're talking about. You haven't felt the pain I have endured. Face it Hermione, this isn't something you can just learn like words from a text. This is something that you have to suffer, to survive, to understand and use your own excruciating torture to twist to your advantage."  
  
Harry's eyes blazed with a firey gleam as he expelled the last few words. Hermione bit her lip, overwhelmed with too many emotions. Giving him a fleeting glance, she hurried out of the main room and up stairs to her own room. She collided hard with another body, but kept stumbling up the stairs.   
  
"Hermione!" She heard Ron call, but she just threw herself into her room and lay weeping on the bed.   
  
"You and Harry have another fight?" Ron asked softly from the doorway.   
  
Forcing herself to sit up, Hermione tried to form words to express how she felt, but ended up just falling back staring at the ceiling.   
  
"I knew he'd be upset when I saw that that horsey looking aunt of his came to visit him." Ron barreled on, "I mean, he has to live with that family most of the summer, can't she just leave him alone?"   
  
"She's dead!" Hermione finally errupted, more tears streaming down her face, "She had to tell Harry something, something about how this was his last year he was going to stay in her household. He started yelling at her, and-and-"  
  
Her breath now ragged and gasping, Ron sat down on the edge of the bed, bewildered, and persisted for her to finish.   
  
"Oh Ron, he killed her!" Hermione sobbed, throwing herself on his shoulder. She felt his whole body go rigid as the news sunk in, but somehow through all the thoughts that were racing through his mind, he managed to wrap a comforting arm around her and draw her close.   
  
The two sat in silence until Ron began, "I should talk to him."   
  
"He won't listen!" Hermione quavered, "It's as if he's forgotten who he is. All he can think about now is killing Voldemort."   
  
"If we both go down there," Ron started slowly, "we might be able to talk some sense into him."   
  
"I can't." Hermion breathed with a shaky exhale. Ron nodded, patting her on the back, "You write to Dumbledore, and I'll go talk to him."   
  
Hermione nodded, and watched as he left her room, until every reluctant footfall on the step grew distant. Then, brushing aside her tears, she went over to the desk, and began to write.   
  
Ron, meanwhile, trudged down the steps, thinking of what he would, or could say to Harry.  
  
Harry, his friend through everything, had changed so much since their fourth year. Sirius's death and then Neville's had sent Harry into a torment of reeling guilt and remorse. It hadn't been Harry's fault that Neville had revealed himself to the death eaters. It hadn't been Harry's fault that they decided that the other candidate for Voldemort's downfall wasn't safe to live. If only things could go back to the way they had been.   
  
Ron sighed, and stepped down the final stair to the flagstone floor of the Leaky Cauldren's dining area. He thought of all the times they had shared in that very room; the meaningless banter of Fred and George, the continuous remarks of his mother; Percy in a frenzy to find his headboy badge.   
  
The redhead looked around the room as if he had never seen it before. On the cold floor lay the sprawled out body of Mrs. Petunia Dursley. Ron nearly retched at the sight, but forced it back down.   
  
Then he realized that Harry wasn't anywhere visible.   
  
"Harry?" He called, his voice falling flat in the room.   
  
"Harry, are you under the invisibility cloak?" Ron asked, casting his eyes into every corner.   
  
He remained silent for a second, straining to hear the smallest sounds that would betray Harry's presence. A swish of cloth, a supressed cough, the brushing of a hand against another surface.   
  
Nothing.   
  
Harry was gone. 


	2. Chapter Two

Two-  
  
"Don't send the letter yet!"   
  
Ron's panicked voice cut through the air as loudly as if he had been standing next to her. Hermione jerked the letter she had been tying to Pigwidgeon's foot away automatically, and heard Ron thumping up the stairs,   
  
"He's gone!" Ron gasped, pulling at his collar for air, "He left!"   
  
"Where?!" Hermione demanded, finding that her feet took her over to Ron, and that her hands now grasped his shirt in alarm and fright.   
  
"How should I know?" Ron snapped, his face going red, "Just add this disaster to everything else that's happened. I'll go tell the others what's going on."   
  
"Maybe your dad can-" Hermione began, but then paled even whiter than before and clapped her hand to her mouth, "Ron, I'm sorry!" she apologized tremulously through her fingers. The dark red color in Ron's face had drained to grey, but he said nothing. Slamming the door behind him, he disappeared into the hall.   
  
Her hands shaky with exhaustion of crying, Hermione penned in the new predicament, and then tied it to Pigwidgeon.   
  
"Find Dumbledore," she whispered, "and hurry back with a reply."   
  
Pig hooted cheerfully, ignorant of all the turmoil that seethed in the inn, and zoomed out the window. Hermione fell on her back on the bed, and said in a voice softer the breeze outside, "I can't take much more of this."   
  
.  
  
Ron left Ginny in her room hugging her pillow in silent sobs, and reluctantly went to his mother's room. It had almost been four months since Arthur Weasley had disappeared, but Molly still clung to her shredded hopes that he was alive.   
  
It pained Ron's heart to see his mother in such a state, and he avoided her when he could, but the reluctance he felt was multiplied tenfold for this occasion.   
  
Knocking softly on her door and slipping in, he found her staring out the window with her shawl thrown around her shoulders. Her face was haggard, wan, and her whole body seemed stooped and ravenous for happiness again. Everything about her was so pathetic and conquered. To know that his words could only send her deeper into depression sent his stomach into waves of nausea and self-loathing.   
  
"Evening Mum," he greeted, biting his lip to restrain the tears of absolute grief and loss.   
  
.  
  
Harry wandered through the streets of Diagon Alley deep in thought. Ever since Dumbledore had told him the prophecy, he'd lost all hope of living a normal life even to wizard standards. All that mattered now was that the Dark Lord must be vanquished. Harry knew that he'd destroyed his protection by killing Petunia, but he knew that the information would find Voldemort. The bait was irresitible. A seventeen year old boy disconnected from his only living relatives with only the care of a poor wizard family on his side and the under the protective eye of a wizard now shunned by the public.   
  
Harry knew he wouldn't have to wait long. Knew that the conclusion of this war would soon come. Knew that he would either kill the most feared wizard or die himself.   
  
That fact had hardened his soul. He didn't care about living, only that Voldemort must die or the world would suffer from his, Harry's own defeat.   
  
The evening shoppers gave him wide birth as he walked, whispering and sending glares at the most feared and ridiculed young man they had celebrated, shunned, celebrated, and then evaded again. He was the one who was to kill You-Know-Who; the one who had duelled with him so many times and escaped; the one, it was rumored, who sent the Longbottom's son to his death.   
  
Harry no longer cared how others regarded him. They weren't the ones who sacrificed their happinesses for a greater cause. Harry thought of Petunia, and felt a chill seep into him. It was not of regret, nor even sadness.   
  
The coolness jerked him back to reality, back to the street that now seemed so black, lifeless, and cold.   
  
Unnatural, was what it was. Harry yanked his wand from his back pocket and lit the tip with a bisyllabic whisper. An all too familiar rush of ice spread through him, and he paused, waiting for the dementors to appear.   
  
Out of, it seemed, nowhere, four became present. Without so much as a quicken in his heartbeat, he cried, "Expecto patronum!"   
  
Wisps of silver shot out of his wand, but dissolved in the thick darkness. Harry repeated the spell, but only to the same results. Harry conjured an image of joy in his mind and tried again. This time the stag errupted out his wand and chased the dementors away. Calm as he had been before, Harry slipped his wand back in his pocket, and continued on his way.   
  
.  
  
"I told you not to remain in the Leaky Cauldren," Dumbledore began softly, blinking down at them.   
  
"We just needed to get our things," Hermione explained in a pained tone, "we didn't think that anything could happen in one night."   
  
"Miss Granger, have you forgotten everything you have been through?" Dumbledore demanded, his voice suddenly sharp, "How long did it take to recover the Sorceror's Stone? How long did you spend in the Shrieking Shack? How long were you at the Department of Mysteries?"   
  
Hermione, her tears spent, merely nodded miserably.  
  
"A letter has already been sent to Mr. Dursley." He continued.   
  
"Did you tell him Harry did it?" Ron asked worriedly.   
  
"I told him it was the work of a dark wizard."   
  
"But Harry's not-" Ginny broke in angrily, but Dumbledore continued, "Only the mind of a dark wizard would kill a muggle merely because she was in the way."   
  
"He's not a dark wizard!" Ginny persisted, her eyes flashing.   
  
"If he does not see reason soon," Dumbledore began, "it will be a battle of two dark wizards, both more powerful than concievable."   
  
"But if Harry wins..." Ron trailed off.   
  
Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley looked apprehensively at Dumbledore, who sighed, and folded his hands together.   
  
"We must try to change him before the confrontation, or we will be no better off than when Voldemort was in power." 


	3. Chapter Three

Three-  
  
"Potter!"  
  
The harsh voice came from, it seemed, out of nowhere, and Harry jumped, whipping his wand out and holding it steadily before him.  
  
In one liquid movement a dark shadow from the wall detached itself and stood before Harry, wand also out. "What do you want, Snape?" Harry snarled, raising his wand inconspicuously higher.  
  
"I believe I should be asking of you the same question. What happened this time, Potter? Did something not go your way again?"  
  
Snape lowered his wand but his dark eyes never left Harry's face, "So foolish of you, to run from the only people that could protect you."  
  
"I don't need to be protected." Harry spat, "Not by the Dursleys, not by the Weasleys, not by Dumbledore, and especially not by you."  
  
"Congradulations, Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, "your arrogance has surpassed your father's. Are you ready to abandon this madness you pursue and face logic and reason?"  
  
"This may seem like madness to someone like you," Harry responded, "but I can't go anywhere without hurting someone, so I have chosen solitude. Think about that, Snape, it's because of me that your precious pet, Malfoy, is still at Mungos regrowing his arm. It's my fault Ron broke his leg, that Hermione wound up almost dead, that Sirius died, that Mr. Weasley disappeared, that Neville was-"  
  
Harry faltered as he found the words he intended to use tasted bitter. He looked up from the pavement to face Snape, and was startled to find that his potions master's pale countenance had gone even whiter.  
  
"You take far too much credit for things out of your control." Snape almost shouted, advancing on Harry.  
  
"You don't know how much I want to hurt you, Snape." Harry said in a low but clear voice. Snape froze, and began to raise his wand again.  
  
"By escaping from the Durselys when I turned eleven I thought I was escaping hell, but you just had to make my life miserable since the first day I arrived. Your death would bring no regret to my conscience." Snape stepped back, his wand still raised, eyes watching Harry closely. Before the professor could even protect himself, Harry cried:  
  
"Crucio totallus!"  
  
A pain deeper than a knife, more lasting than shame, and both colder and hotter than imaginable wracked Snape's body as he collapsed to the ground and he heard an unearthly scream hiss from his own mouth.  
  
A smile of satisfaction curled on Harry's lips as he walked away from the person he loathed so much.  
  
.  
  
"You two are the only ones he listens to," Dumbledore stated, reguarding Ron and Hermione with sad knowingness, "It isn't fair that I put this on you, it isn't fair what you have gone through and witnessed, but I ask you to confront him. He won't heed me, but you are his friends."  
  
"He justs tells me I don't understand!" Hermione cried angrily, "I've tried so hard to make him see- so hard-" she broke off, breathing hard and wringing her hands.  
  
"I guess I could try another go," Ron sighed, "but only if Hermione comes with me." "Ron, I can't-" Hermione began, but stopped, seeing his look of determination.  
  
"Then go," Dumbledore urged, "if you wait too long it will be too late."  
  
.  
  
"I've never been this deep into Diagon Alley." Ron whispered, one hand gripping his wand and the other clasped in Hermione's cold and clenching hand.  
  
Past the shops everyone visited the street became narrower and uneven flagstone kept the two alert.Many of the shops they passed were boarded up, and those that weren't were uninviting to say the least.  
  
As Ron and Hermione continued the sound of screaming met their ears. Ron, wondering if Hermione's heart was beating as fast as his, dropped his hand from hers and walked cautiously closer.  
  
"Who is it?" Hermione breathed, following his steps, "It couldn't be Harry, could it?"  
  
At her words Ron abandoned reason and sprinted forward, lighting his wand as the cries of pain grew louder.  
  
In the middle of the street was an agony-stricken form. His back arced off the ground and then all his limbs drew together as if to center the pain.  
  
Hermione's footfalls stopped, and behind Ron he heard her voice, horrified yet strong, "Dies Incantatem!"  
  
As the form stopped its writhing and the silence that followed was worse than his shrieks.  
  
"Professor Snape!" Hermione exclaimed, dropping down next to him. His whole body raced with tremors and his closed lids fluttered to open. A soft hiss and a desperate inhale passed his lips and he went limp.  
  
"I have to take him back," Hermione started, looking up at a very white faced Ron, "He'll die if I don't. You have to go on."  
  
"By myself?" Ron demanded, aghast, with all signs of continuing to protest, but Hermione cut in before he had a chance, "You heard Dumbledore, it might be too late already. You've been his friend longer than I have. He's got to listen to you."  
  
"Mobilicorpus," Hermione muttered, and Snape slowly rose from the ground.  
  
"Go, Ron, you have to." She pleaded. Ron finally nodded, and trudged on down the road. When Hermione's footsteps faded to silence he looked around uneasily.  
  
"Harry?" He called into the dark, "Harry, can we talk?"  
  
.  
  
The next day Hermione sat on one of the barstools at the Leaky Cauldren with Ginny on the other side of the counter. Both had teacups before them, yet neither girl had so much as sipped the tea.  
  
"Harry wouldn't hurt Ron." Ginny said, as if trying to assure herself.  
  
"He might not even have found him yet," Hermione added, hating how her anxiety dominated her voice.  
  
A wizard entered the inn and called an order to Ginny. Automatonically the redhead caught one of the mugs hanging above head and filled it with firewhisky. She handed it to the man, collected the change, and then beat her head on the counter.  
  
Hermione seized her by either side of the head to prevent further banging, "Don't make matters worse."  
  
"Worse?!" Ginny yelled, "Killing myself couldn't make matters worse!"  
  
"Don't say that," Hermione whispered, picking up her teacup and holding it close to her mouth. She looked contemplatively in the dark liquid, and then set it back down on its saucer.  
  
As she did so Mrs. Weasley descended down the stairs, and asked, "How is the professor?"  
  
"At Mungo's." Ginny replied flatly, staring at the wall.  
  
"They said if I'd brought him any later he would have surely died." Hermione supplied, "But they have their best healers for him, so now all we can do is wait."  
  
Mrs. Weasley nodded, passing a hand over her forehead, and joined the two.  
  
"When did Albus leave?"  
  
"Last night," Ginny said, "after you two went to bed."  
  
"How late were you up last night?" Hermione asked, shocked. She herself had gone to bed at three in the morning after Ginny promised she would be up shortly.  
  
"I never went upstairs." Ginny mumbled, hastily rubbing the counter with a rag.  
  
"You shouldn't have!" Mrs. Weasley almost cried. Ginny, now bright red, answered, "I know, but we need the money, and Tom said he'd pay me double if I worked through the night."  
  
Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands, "What have we become?"  
  
Ginny, blinking rapidly and biting her lip, rested a hand on her mother's shaking back, and looked hopelessly at Hermione.  
  
Barely able to contain her grief, Hermione drained her lukewarm tea and left the Leaky Cauldren.  
  
.  
  
"How is he?" Hermione asked, peering past Healer Augustus Pye to the bed where Snape lay.  
  
Augustus smiled, "Much better, but he was hit with a very strong Cruciatus curse, so it could be awhile before he recovers even enough to sit up."  
  
"But he will make it?" Hermione persisted, looking into the young healer's eyes.  
  
"Most assuredly, Miss Granger," he promised, "but I must ask: do you know who cursed him?"  
  
"Why?" Hermione asked defensively. Augustus looked taken aback at her definiteness, and merely shrugged, "It was a very powerful wizard who could have hurt Severus Snape so badly. The patient has the mark-"  
  
"He's a reformed Death Eater." Hermione began, but Augustus nodded, "I know that, but I was just thinking that it could have been You-Know-Who himself who did this to him."  
  
Hermione didn't reply, but brushed past the healer and sat down by the bed. Sadly, she noticed the obvious lack of any flowers or cards.  
  
"Pathetic, isn't it?" Augustus mentioned, "I remember him from Hogwarts; maybe if he wasn't so positively loathsome he might have some well-wishers."  
  
Hermione nodded, and Augustus pulled a chair up next to hers, and continued, "I've read about your friend in the papers. It must be really difficult to cope with so much all the time."  
  
"It is." Hermione agreed softly, drawing her eyes from Snape to Augustus. Augustus's face tinged red, and he finished, "If you ever need someone- even just to have listen to you- I'd be honored if you came to me."  
  
Smiling for the first time in days, Hermione gave a nod, "Thank you. I really should get back, though."  
  
Augustus leapt out of the chair, unnessessarily helped her stand, and escorted her out of the room. As Hermione walked down the hallway, she glanced back and saw the healer still watching her leave. Waving her hand and smiling again, she turned the corner, and headed down the stairs. When she entered the lobby she found there to be a large commotion in the doorway. A few healers, one she recognized to be Healer Smethwyck, crowded around a floating stretcher.  
  
A head of familiar silver hair bobbed among the healers, and Hermione called out, "Dumbledore!"  
  
The headmaster turned to see her, and his face, already grave, turned a shade sadder. He gestured her over.  
  
Now nervous, Hermione gingerly met with him, and looked at the patient whom the healers were attending to.  
  
"Ron!" She screamed. Her legs buckled and the world went black. 


	4. Chapter Four

Four-  
  
Hermione's hand hovered over Ron's ashen brow, and she slowly let her palm rest on his forehead. Her warmth absorbed the coldness of his face, and she looked at his closed eyes; wondering, wondering.  
  
Had Harry done this?  
  
She tore her gaze from her friend and watched the healers rushing past the doorway. One passed, his gaze shifting to Ron, and then muttered to the healer-in-training by him, "Notify the boy's mother."  
  
"No!" Hermione cried, leaping from her chair and chasing after the two. The healer turned, looking at her quizically, "His parents should know of his condition."  
  
"Mr. Weasley disappeared months ago and she hasn't recovered yet- tell her her son is-is here, and she'll-" Hermione struggled to find words, but the healer shook his head, "She has a right to know."  
  
"Then don't tell her yet," Hermione pleaded. The healer-in-training turned sympathetically to her healer, "We could do that."  
  
Giving in, the healer sighed, "Until he recovers somewhat."  
  
"He will live?!" Hermione exclaimed, her heart lifting. "He was hit by a total Cruciatus curse and left for sometime, and almost near the breaking point, but luckily Albus found him before it was too late." The healer-in-training supplied.  
  
Thanking both, Hermione hurried back to Ron's room, and stared down at him. Softly touching his cheek, she bent over to kiss his forehead and straightened, throwing on her cloak. She was the only one left to reason with Harry.  
  
.  
  
"Avada kedavra!" Harry screamed, watching the green jet of light explode from his wand tip and enshroud the deatheater. The form fell to the pavement with a thud, and Harry gave a smile of triumph.  
  
Muttering a spell under his breath, a jet of red gold light shot from his wand and hovered over the dead form. Slowly the gold mist began to shift to a solid form:  
  
An ever-moving bolt of lightning pointing down to the deatheater.  
  
Stepping back to gaze at his handywork, Harry's smile grew, and he hurried on deeper into Diagon Alley.  
  
"I'm waiting." He called to the night sky, stopping and looking around, "I'm alone, Voldemort; come and face me."  
  
A gentle wind lifted his hair as he revolved on the spot, searching for being that had ruined his life.  
  
"Aren't we the confident murderer?"  
  
Harry whirled around, trying to locate the source of the voice. A laugh reverberated through him in not sound but feeling.  
  
"Where are you?" Harry demanded, clenching his wand with his right hand.  
  
"I am merely waiting for your realization."  
  
.  
  
Voldemort stepped from the shadows to show himself before this arrogant young adult. Hatred beat on his every nerve like a waterfall as he glared into the green eyes of Harry Potter.  
  
"This is it." Harry murmured advancing towards Voldemort. The latter snarled, "What will you do should you destroy me?"  
  
"I'll kill every single deatheater that ever joined you," Harry spat. Voldemort, amused, laughed, "Purge the world of evil, will you? Your ideal society will never be accomplished by bloodshed."  
  
"A massacre of killers is more worthwhile than of the innocent." Harry countered.  
  
"Have you even considered those that will avenge those that died?" Voldemort asked calmly, watching with satisfaction as Harry's expression flickered, and Voldemort continued, "I believe your friend Longbottom is an excellant example. He tried to avenge the fate of his parents by planning to kill one of my deatheaters, Avery. Avery, of course, had nothing to do with the Longbottoms, but was nevertheless delighted to murder the foolish boy, and that is what you will do."  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, yes, you would," Voldemort crowed, "if it was down to the avenger's life or your's, you'd choose your own. You see, Harry? No one ever plans to be who he becomes, yet the inevitable is waiting, Potter, waiting for you to stumble into it. It will consume you and the next thing you know you've killed a dozen people and can't wait for more."  
  
"You're wrong." Harry whispered.  
  
"Am I?" Voldemort scoffed, stepping closer, narrowing his eyes, "You've already adopted one of my techniques." He pointed to the sky where the gold red bolt flickered and twisted, "You've killed your aunt, if I was correctly informed. One of your friends will be next."  
  
As if Fate had timed the cruel irony to perfection, a female voice called from nearby, "Harry?"  
  
Voldemort's reflexes sent him in a frenzy of motion. Before Harry could even move the dark lord had seized the girl'sd wrists and dragged her from the shadows.  
  
With his voice shaking with supressed emotion and comprehension, Harry asked, "What are you doing here, Hermione?" 


	5. Chapter Five

Five-  
  
Hermione's insides seemed frozen as she felt Voldemort's hard cold hands against her skin and beheld Harry, barely even looking concerned at her plight. "Harry!" She called again, "Harry, did you curse Ron?"  
  
A light glittered in the young man's eyes that made Hermione forget for a moment where she was. His eyes, now wide and concerned, reminded her of countless adventures they had had, and it seemed, for moment, the two friends had connected with their combined grief.  
  
"Ron?" Harry asked, lowering his wand. Before Hermione could answer she was thrown hard to the ground by Voldemort's strong hands. Voldemort raised his wand and shouted a spell aimed at Harry.  
  
A shower of blue mist covered him, and Harry staggered back, his green eyes livid with rage.  
  
"You distracted me!" He roared at Hermione, and then screamed a curse at Voldemort. Hermione cowered on the pavement, horrified at Harry's reaction and condition.  
  
Voldemort sidestepped the jet of light, and made a point to kick Hermione on the side of her head.  
  
Reeling in pain, she tried to focus her eyes, but found a heavy fog now surrounded her vision. In seconds the world was black.  
  
"Wake up Miss Granger," a soft voice commanded. Dazedly, Hermione fluttered her eyes open to see Dumbledore knelt by her.  
  
"Harry!" She exclaimed, "And Voldemort! They were fighting- we have to save him."  
  
Dumbledore pulled Hermione to her feet, and she looked around. She was in the street and night still clung to the sky.  
  
"It's too late." Dumbledore sighed, gesturing to the ground. A ways off a pile of ashes lay strewn about, and propped against a boarded up shop was an unconsious Harry.  
  
Scrambling over to him, Hermione dropped down to his head and lifted his slack head up.  
  
"It's not too late!" She exclaimed, cradling his head to her chest as she looked imploringly at the headmaster.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head mournfully, "I came just after Mr. Potter had killed Lord Voldemort. I talked to Harry; his heart has been consumed by loss. Revenge was all he spoke of, and there was not a trace of compassion in his voice."  
  
"He cares about Ron!" Hermione countered, growing angry, "He asked me about him but then-" she stopped, remembering the look of loathing he had rested on her for catching his attention. Such cold fury she had seen nowhere else.  
  
Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but then caught himself, watching Hermione kiss Harry's head as she held him close.  
  
"He's hurt!" She said, trying to lift him to his feet, "We must take him to Mungo's."  
  
"No."  
  
Dumbledore's tone had suddenly become stern and harsh, "He has killed his aunt and tortured Severus Snape. He won't stop there."  
  
"If we leave him here he'll die!" Hermione raged, looking up at Dumbledore. Seeing the sorrowful yet resigned look in his eyes she realized what he meant to do, and what he expected of her.  
  
"No!" She cried, clutching Harry's unconsious form. Dumbledore drew nearer, and placed a hand on her shoulder, "He feels nothing right now, when he slips from our world to the next the transistion will be smooth and painless."  
  
"Harry," Hermione whispered, feeling her grip on him loosen. Dumbledore pulled Hermione to her feet, both hands planted on her shoulders in an authoritive way. Hermione gazed down at the sleeping form of her friend and memories flashed in a merciless way across her mind.  
  
The headmaster began to guide her away from Harry, but Hermione shrugged his hands from her and threw herself sobbing on Harry.  
  
"You can't die!"  
  
Dumbledore seized her and started drawing her away again, more firmly this time, whispering, "It's too late, Hermione, there's nothing I can do. I am sorry."  
  
Hermione wept in protest to no avail, her eyes never lifting from the figure in his wakeless sleep.  
  
Hermione sat at the old table, watching the candle. The flame was merely a bright blue stub in the ocean of grey-brown wax. It had once been a tall, proud column of white gold, but now it burned weakly, nearly suffocated in its surroundings.  
  
She thought of Ron, how he had come home from Mungo's the other day. How his face had twisted in anger and pain when she told him of Harry. How it took both Fred, George, and Ginny to hold their brother back as he tried to launch himself on Hermione and Dumbledore in fury.  
  
She hadn't spoken to him since then.  
  
The grief, nay, the torment of it all weighed Hermione's heart to a depth she hadn't known possible. Every time the second hand on the wall of the Leaky Cauldren ticked reminded her that she was still horribly conscious. Still breathing. Still, to her disgust, living.  
  
Her hand wrapped around her goblet of water and she tried to drink. The tepid liquid touched her lips, but she set the goblet back down on the table.  
  
"Hermione, it's almost morning."  
  
His voice made her start and knock her drink over. She jumped to her feet and faced Ron, biting her lip, not knowing what to say.  
  
Swiftly, Ron flicked his wand at the mess to clean it up, selected another goblet, and filled both up with water. He sat down across from her and looked at her face.  
  
"What are you doing still up?" She asked, avoiding his eyes.  
  
"Guilty conscience."  
  
Hermione raised her eyes up to his neck, but said nothing.  
  
"I-I'm sorry about what I said-earlier." Ron stammered, "It must have been awful for you to do that- I was an idiot to blame-"  
  
He stopped, seeing Hermione bury her face in her hands.  
  
"But I did do it, Ron!" She exclaimed, her voice breaking into soft sobs.  
  
"It was for everyone else that he died, though," Ron said, quoting Dumbledore, "it's not your fault."  
  
Hermione met Ron's eyes finally, "That doesn't stop me from missing him!"  
  
"I know, I know." Ron replied, seizing her hand and holding it tight. The two sat in silence for a time, letting time forget them until the sun began to rise.  
  
"A toast," Ron began suddenly, his other hand encircling his goblet. Hermione weakly held hers a few inches off the table, and waited.  
  
Seeing the golden rays of the sun thinly cut through the smudged panes, knowing that both their lives would never be the same, Ron gave a small smile, for once knowing exactly what to say.  
  
"To Harry Potter- the boy who lived." 


End file.
